Ella Dominguez - Becoming Sir

“I can’t, Sarah; I’m a recovering alcoholic. But if you want to drink, feel free. I just can’t join you.”

She dropped her hand to her side again. “Don’t be silly. If you’re not drinking, then neither am I,” she stated resolutely, walking over and emptying the glasses into the sink.

Sawyer cringed at seeing the Jack go to waste but was touched at the gesture. Sonya consistently drank alcohol in front of him despite his addiction, and never once gave a second thought to how difficult it was at seeing her do it.

Facing  him, confusion flashed in her eyes. “Why do you have whiskey in your house?”

He shrugged guiltily and seated himself at the table. “It’s a good reminder of where I don’t ever want to end up again.”

Placing her hands on her hips, she raised her brows suspiciously. “That’s not the only reason, though, is it?”

Picking up the fork, Sawyer poked at his pasta, not wanting to answer the question. He felt exposed once again. Sarah seemed to have that effect on him. Glancing up, he moved his shoulders in a half-assed shrug and puckered his mouth.

“Okay. Then we’ll just have to get rid of it. Do you want to do the honors or should I?” she asked, grabbing the bottle and moving to the sink.

Sighing loudly, he moved next to her. He knew it had to be done. Hell, he should’ve done it himself eons ago.

“I’ll do it,” he replied, taking the bottle from her hands and quickly pouring the remainder of the liquid down the sink.

Sarah’s eyebrows went up in shock at how swiftly he moved and Sawyer huffed, “What?”

“Nothing. I just thought…” she shook her head.

“Well don’t think. Just because I’m an alcoholic doesn’t mean I don’t have the balls to do what needs to be done,” he sniped defensively.

“A recovering alcoholic,” she politely corrected.

“Whatever; same fucking difference,” he grumbled.

“No, it’s not, Sawyer, and you know it,” her accusing voice stabbed the air.

“Are you done lecturing me, Sarah?” his tone was inflamed and thunderous.

Her eyes darted around the room nervously before resting on the floor. “I didn’t mean to lecture.”

Sawyer suddenly felt like a complete shit. “Fuck…” he breathed out. “I’m sorry. I just hate talking about my issues. You’re right; it isn’t the same.”

“You don’t ever have to apologize to me, Sir. Simply acknowledging that you were mistaken is enough. I’m sorry for pushing you,” she countered timorously.

His hand lightly touched her chin. “Trust me when I say I need to be pushed.”

In one forward motion Sarah pressed against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist and hiding her face in the fabric of his linen shirt.

Post dinner discussions began and Sawyer was eager to get Sarah’s take on his upcoming scene with Ciara. He read to her Ciara’s one and only hard limit and she gave him a probing stare with something flickering far back in her luminous eyes.

“I have experience with breath play, Sir,” she stated matter-of-factly, her voice carefully colored in neutral shades.

His lips thinned and his eyes narrowed. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m not suggesting; I’m stating a fact. If you want to learn from me, then use me. We’re both sane and consenting adults, Sawyer. If you want to wait for Dylan and Isabel, that’s fine, but I’m sitting here in front of you, willing and ready to begin your lesson,” she regarded him with intense analysis.

“But…” he tried to come up with an excuse, but could think of none. “How much experience do you have?” he was finally able to ask.

“Compared to whom? To you? An immense amount. It was one of Master Doug’s fetishes.”

He hadn’t been prepared for her response and fear, cold and stark, washed over him. What if he hurt her? Or worse… killed her? Sawyer closed his eyes and leaned his head back, his mind congested with doubts and worries. What if he couldn’t stop himself in time? What if his dark headspace overtook him?

“You won’t hurt me, if that’s what you’re afraid of. I know my limits.  You need to learn to trust, Sawyer; not just me, but yourself. Just hours ago you didn’t think it possible to punish me. Oh, Sir, don’t you know that on the edge of fear is where trust grows?”

He was momentarily speechless in his wonderment of Sarah’s confidence in him. But it was false confidence as far as he was concerned if she didn’t know his past and why he was fearful of experimenting with something so dangerous.

He drew in a deep breath and forced himself to respond. “I need to tell you something first before we go forward. You can decide if you still want to go through with this only after you know everything about me.”

Sarah became instantly interested and moved closer to Sawyer. He turned his face away and physically withdrew from her. She might retract her statement of him being sane once she knew all the facts.  After a long pause during which he struggled for the words to say, he gave in to the inevitable and confessed in three simple yet tortured, quiet words.

“I’m a murderer.”

He glanced at Sarah so see intense astonishment on her face as she stared at him, tongue-tied.  After another protracted and painfully quiet moment, he forced himself to face her, wondering why the hell she wasn’t hauling ass in the opposite direction.

“Say something,” he demanded.

Her mouth dropped open. “I’m not sure what to say without you first explaining what that statement means.”

He clenched his mouth tight, the muscle in his jaw quivering from agitation at the whole situation. “A statement like that doesn’t need further explanation, does it?”

Blinking rapidly, she gave his face and body a raking once over. “Of course it does. You say ‘murderer’ as in present tense. Are you a serial killer or vigilante?”

Rolling his eyes, Sawyer chuckled. “No, I’m not that kind of murderer.”

“Then what kind are you?”

“The kind who’s murdered a lot. On the orders of others. When I worked for the The Agency. Even a few after,” he answered in clipped sentences as the thoughts came to him, hoping that his admission wouldn’t send Sarah running to the police. Of course the CIA would deny his employment so it’s not like anything would ever come of it if she did.

“So you were a murderer; not you are a murderer,” she plunged on, obviously not as shocked by his statement as he had expected her to be.

“Semantics, my dear,” Sawyer answered, his vexation with her response clearly evident.

“Since we’re coming clean, I should tell you something about myself, as well. I’m a cheater and a liar,” she fidgeted with the ruffled hem of her shirt, her voice dropping in volume to barely a whisper.

Sawyer bristled and shifted in his seat. “What do you mean?”

“Before I married Master Doug, when we were still dating, things had gotten bad between us. I was so unhappy. We hardly spoke or had meaningful physical contact. I’m sure he was miserable, too, but he never let on. Or maybe he did and I just didn’t see the signs…” she stared off into the distance. “I cheated on him. Worse than that, I had an affair. When Doug found out, he… he…” her eyes welled up and she swallowed hard, “…he forgave me. He said it was both our faults for not being honest with our desires and wants. It’s what got him interested in BDSM. He forgave me, Sawyer. Can you believe that? I still can’t.” She dabbed the corner of her eyes with the back of her hand. “I didn’t deserve his forgiveness.  I cheated and lied, but he loved me anyway…” she smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear, “and we learned about BDSM together and exonerated each other of the hurts that we caused one other, and he never held it against me. And that wonderful man eventually married me. Me, Sawyer, a cheater and a liar. He married a cheater and a liar…”